I was blessed to have been raised in a Christian home. I had both parents (the original set, by the way), an older sister and brother and scores of grandparents, aunts and uncles, and cousins. For years I was certain I must have been born in the church instead of a hospital, for every time the doors were opened, we were there.

It seemed like I had family on every board and every committee that ever existed in that church. My grandparents always sat on the north side of the sanctuary in the next to the front pew. We always sat on the south side of the church in the sixth row from the back.  I was surrounded by cousins in the choir, and aunts or uncles as my church school teachers. I had no opportunity to misbehave during a service because there was always some relation around and I knew they would have no hesitation in correcting me in the same manner they did their own children. And for that very reason, it was not hard to become the apple of my family’s eye.

For all outward appearances it looked like I had the perfect life. But things are not always as they seem. When I was a small girl, I was sexually abused. I never told anyone about it. I was afraid that if my family knew they would stop loving me. Unless someone has gone through this experience it is hard to explain the trauma and self-condemnation that results, especially in someone so young and trusting. I finally decided it must have been something I had done, that it was my fault.

Therefore, I reasoned that if I was always "extra good" then people would love me, not hurt me. From that moment on every relationship I ever had was based on my ability to "be good" and to please. That included my relationship with God. If I had done something so "bad" that I could be used in such a perverted way, I needed to be sure I never did anything to make God angry.

When I was in the Sixth Grade a new pastor was moved to our church. He had a daughter my age and we became the best of friends. One Saturday night a traveling Revival came to town. The pastor’s daughter and I decided to attend. (I guess now would be the time to admit that we decided to sneak in. Our church was not Pentecostal by any stretch of the imagination and attendance to such events as this one was not encouraged.)

I can still remember sitting in the back row on hard, wood folding chairs. The community building where it was being held was packed full and the heat was almost unbearable. But something kept me rooted to my seat. I can’t tell you many of the words that were spoken. I only remember that the speaker was talking about a Jesus Who loved me just the way I was. A Jesus that would not only forgive my past, but forget it! This is what I had been looking for – longing for! When the altar call was given wild horses couldn’t have kept me in my seat! God loved me! Even if I did "bad" things, He loved me. I didn’t have to be "good". He just loved me!!  I believe I flew home that night on the wings of the Seraphim. I was loved and forgiven! I was free!

I would like to tell you that my parents accepted this news with the same level of excitement. But I can’t. My parents were hurt that I had disobeyed them and had gone where I had been forbidden to go. They assured me that if what these "Holy Rollers" were preaching was true we would have heard it in our own church. I was just being "emotional" and needed to go straight to bed. I was to forget all about it and we would never speak of it again.

I don’t blame my parents. They simply responded the way so many of us do when faced with something we don’t understand. But for a long time I believed that I had once again done something "bad" and that they probably didn’t love me anymore. So, I did as my parents told me. I put that night out of my life and redoubled my efforts to be a "good" girl and do only the things that would please them. It was many years before we ever talked about it again.

I continued going to church, grew up and got married. My husband and I moved and became active in a local church. We served on all the boards and committees that ever existed in that church. Our daughters thought they were born in the church instead of a hospital because whenever the doors were open – we were there.

For all outward appearances it looked like I had the perfect life. But things are not always as they seem. I still believed I had to be "good" to be loved and accepted. Then God sent a pastor to our church. I can’t tell you all the words that he spoke, but I do remember hearing them somewhere before. I remember hearing them in a hot, crowded building sitting on a hard, wood folding chair. This man spoke of the Jesus that loved me as I was, good or bad!

I praise God that I no longer live my life "trying" to please others. I now understand that it is not the "good" that I do. I do not please God by my works. I can only please God by my faith in Him and His Word  (Hebrews 11:6). My worthiness does not depend on what I do or do not do. My salvation comes from whom I belong to – nothing more, nothing less.

Many reading this have gone through a similar experience. You may not have been sexually abused, but there are many types of abuses and all of them bring pain and questions about one’s worth. There are many of you who still believe that your salvation is determined by what you do and how "good" you are.

How do I know? Because dependence upon Self is from the very Enemy himself. Satan has used that trick for thousands of years because he can’t come up with anything new. He is not a creator. He’s the Father of lies.

Break the cycle today, right now. Don’t believe the devil for one more minute. Nothing you have done or will do can earn you God’s love and forgiveness. Your salvation does not come from whom you are and what you do, but Who God is and what He does. What does He do? Just loves you as you are. Accept that Jesus today.